Watching Time (Novel): Chapter 4 (Welcome to Florida)

For once, Myra was glad she had Naomi’s advice. She had been used to eighty degree summers, but the high nineties and high humidity make it a thousand times more miserable.

          Eventually, she went to find Earl. “Can you turn the air conditioning down?” she begged. “I can’t stand this heat!”

          “Air conditioning is broken,” Earl shrugged. “The heater works fine, but I made sure it was off because, while I’m not sure about the rest of you, I sure don’t want this place to be too hot.” He chuckled a little and began making more notes on a paper in from of him.

          “What’s that?” Myra inquired. Her voice seemed edgy, and she hoped Earl would assume it was because of the heat.

          “I’m considering things we might want to do,” Earl informed her. “The beach for sure is something I’ve got planned.”

          Myra frowned. Why did everyone always want to go to the beach? She honestly didn’t care much for it. Not bothering to reply, Myra backed out of the room. She made her way to bed, fully realizing it was almost nine, and she hadn’t gotten a whole lot of quality sleep. Sleep was easy, tonight. And furthermore, she didn’t have any nightmares…

         

But sleep only lasted as long as silence, in Myra’s opinion, and she noted the lack of silence when awoke. There was some high-pitched laughter outside. Myra slipped out of bed and went to the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, and saw everyone except Earl gathered around a campfire roasting marshmallows.

          She slid the door open just enough that she could make out their words, and then slid just out of view.

          “I can’t believe he thought that was a good idea!” snorted Fia.

          “Me, neither!” Mark laughed. “And then he just walked off!” Another burst of laughter erupted, until John cut in.

          “Guys, quit it. Myra’s still asleep, and I bet Earl’s sleeping already, too.”

          “Oh, you’re no fun,” Fia muttered, but even Myra could tell she was really joking, given her lowered voice.

          There was a silence. “So, what do you guys think of Myra, after all?” Naomi inquired, and Myra caught her breath. She knew what happened in books and movies, when this happened.

          “She’s cool,” Fia shrugged. “But…I don’t know, she seems a little…”

          “Depressed?” Mark offered.

          “No, more towards insane, but not quite there,” Fia corrected. “She’s great to hang around, but…when I mentioned how good my mom’s cooking was, she panicked and basically ran off without warning.”

          “It could be her mom was a great chef,” John pointed out. “Her parents died less than a month ago. The memory is still fresh for her.”

          “True,” Mark agreed. “But that doesn’t explain how hostile she was towards Naomi and I when we met.”

          “Hostile how?” John wondered.

          “Like, she hated us,” Mark supplied. “And Naomi claims she’s shut out every time she tries to do something for her.”

          “Mark…” Naomi whispered, and Myra could barely make out the word.

          “It’s true, though,” Mark insisted. “I’m not saying she’s a bad person, just…well…she isn’t acting like herself.”

          “Neither are you,” John shot back. “You keep shutting us out, too. What’s happened to you?”

          “Calm down, John!” Fia begged. It sounded like she was straining, as if she was physically holding John back.

          “Yeah, what’s gotten into you, while we’re at it?” Mark mocked. “Are you in love or something?”

          “Goodnight,” John muttered.

          “John, wait, let’s try to sort this out,” Naomi told him. Myra quickly dashed to her bedroom before John could catch her, and she began to wonder if she was the only one on this trip who was dealing with incredibly difficult emotions.

When Myra arrived at the table for breakfast the next morning, she looked awful. Black lines stood out underneath her bloodshot eyes, and her clothes were wrinkled in a way that implied she had tossed and turned a lot.

          “Hey,” she told John, grabbing a bowl, a spoon, and a box of cereal.

          “You’re forgetting the milk,” John told her, slightly amused. He was worried that she had perhaps heard the argument he had been in with Mark the previous night, and silently made a note to be quieter in the future.

          “Nah,” Myra shrugged, slipping into a chair directly across from him, and dumping some of the cereal into her bowl. “I don’t like milk. I try to not eat dairy.”

          “Dairy intolerant?”

          “No, I just don’t like it,” Myra replied with a small grin.

          John smiled back at her and took another bite of his cereal. “Rough night?”

          “Depends on your perspective,” Myra told him vaguely, and stuffed a spoonful of food into her mouth.

          John mentally frowned. She had definitely heard. Which meant she heard him stand up for her, and she heard Mark’s completely rude comment about her-

          “How do you stand getting up this early?” Mark yawned as he joined the table, not bothering with food.

          “It helps if you slept most of the way here,” Myra told him.

          “Or if you used to live on a farm,” John added. In actuality, John had never lived on a farm. He had been in the country, once, and he had a bunch of chores to do, but it wasn’t even close to a farm. Farms grow crops. Ranches raise animals. I didn’t live in either setting.

          “Right, farm boy,” Mark teased. John frowned at him.

          How can he act like nothing has changed since last night? He practically attacked me.

          “Your farm was here in Florida, I guess?” Myra inquired.

          “Oh, no,” John laughed. “I’ve lived in many places. From city to country, from Washington to Florida, I’ve lived in pretty much every environment. My favorite place was Gunnison, Colorado. Nothing like living more than seven thousand feet high.”

          “More than a mile up!” Mark contributed.

          “Wow,” Myra murmured. She ate another bite of cereal.

          “Where do you think would be the best place to live?” John asked her.

          The stare she gave him was uncannily dead as she replied. “A graveyard.”